


Wayward Stars

by Teal_Rainbeau



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura (Voltron) is So Done, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Allura (Voltron), Dark Past, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Minor Character Death, Mountains, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Protective shiro, Romantic Soulmates, Sensuality, Sexual Harrasment, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slav is a Professor, Slow Burn, shallura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 23:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21310165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teal_Rainbeau/pseuds/Teal_Rainbeau
Summary: Update 11-4: Chapter 4 uploaded! :D__________________________________________There was a period in young Takashi Shirogane’s life when he thought nothing of climbing into his windowpane and wishing upon a star. When he was a boy, he was told that celestial beings were born up there, just as humans on earth. His mother’s sketchbook has artwork filled with their depictions. Humans with long ears, skin of all shades of the earth, and hair that vibrated with the glow of the moon and stars.Yet this more adult Shiro yearns for something more tangible than urban legends or theories.With the arrival of Dr. Slav and the appearance of a young woman found stranded near the lake's border, he might get that and more...♪Spotify Playlist/Fic Soundtrack♪
Relationships: Allura/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so happy to begin writing this story! The enthusiasm on Tumblr has been healthy, so thank you for inspiring me _even further to enjoy writing this and giving it my all_. I decided not to rate the story for now, only because there will be some heavy scenes in later chapters. Either way, I hope you guys continue to enjoy as I upload :)  
Like I enjoy doing with my multi-chapter stories, here is a [playlist for your listening pleasure](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/43kIucKtexYvOokrpgRvGz?si=BU0627tORsaoCaXduFgxpA)  
I feel that these songs fit the mood and message of the story and feel free to add some recommendations ♡

Like clockwork, Takashi Shirogane rises early to greet his morning pill. 100 mg sertraline before breakfast, washed down with room temperature water. 

Morning has come too soon for the rising of the sun, yet he welcomes what comes from it as the rustling of leaves indicate animals and their early movements. Something about it is a soothing confirmation that nature will always provide and protect.

The gentle chord of warm water trickles from the kitchen fountain into his mug as he leans his back against the counter, resting in the silence. He takes a few consistent gulps and checks the news on his phone before it is face down and muted.

Once the water warms up his heart rate enough, he begins his workout routine with a quick jog leading away from the cabin and running just along the river's edge. The sight of the ripples run for such an infinity that he stays in the zone in lieu of stopping and marveling at the vastness of such cobalt. 

When he returns, he rips off his fleece sweater and carries his tall, bulky frame through thirty push-ups in front of the fireplace with an alternating arm. Sweat drips from his furrowed brow and cascades down his neck as he grunts periodically. With a satisfied sigh, it’s time to shower and head to his office in town.

.~.~.~.

Kerboros Hills is a mysterious marvel of ashen blue and muted pearls. But as the sun begins to peel back layers among the summits, it is easy to get glimpses of sapphire hills with mountains that barely absorb a thick sheen of snow. 

For Shiro, it is a forty-minute walk to town from his modern cottage. Still, he finds the silence on the pedestrian’s path more calming than using a ride share or setting foot in another car. It’s a life he could completely see himself immersed in until his bones grow brittle and his sight speckled. That probably won’t be for another eighty years, according to his family genes of aging slowly. 

Once he arrives to the more commercial area of Kerberos Hills, he can already sense the commotion in the air. Despite the presence of older adults and the elderly, there is a group of college teens who run around weekends causing chaos and nothing more. Mostly rich, young men who have long grown up having their parents pay for their mistakes. Last week, it was starting snowball fights with more reserved residents. Today, Mrs. Hutchins, the general store owner, contends with their petty theft. Instead of arresting them on the spot, Shiro simply gathers them in the front entrance and gives it to the three of them straight. 

“It’s not right to compromise someone else’s livelihood just because you’re bored.” He asserts sternly.

“But her candies are only ten cents. She ain’t paying no attention.”

Shiro folds his arms tightly, “Just in case you didn’t know, she _is_ paying _all_ the attention. Not to mention that there are cameras hiding around on the shelves somewhere.”

“Yeah right!”

“It’s true...unfortunately! One day I was scratching my back and she showed some footage of me.” Hopefully a little self-deprecation went a long way. Next time he would remove the tags from his shirts _before_ wearing them out.

Mrs. Hutchins comes out long enough to confirm his story as true. “Better take that as a cautionary tale, gentlemen.”

“Sounds like we’re gonna have to pay Mrs. Hutchins a hefty sum to see that blackmail footage of you, Shiro!” One of them takes out a large pile of twenty-dollar bills and cards through it seductively.

“Not for sale. Don’t you have a class you need to hurry off to?” She perches a hand on her hips and leans into the youth with a warning spark in her glare.

“Yeah, _economics_!” 

They huddle into each other like the amused clique they are with their laughter leaving an obnoxious arpeggio around the corner.

Shiro sighs heavily the moment he realizes his approach has backfired. But more patience was needed with these young men, he reminds himself again for the hundredth time this week.

“Why do you consistently let them run roughshod in this town? They’re not minors, Takashi.”

“Because I believe in redemption, Mrs. Hutchins. As long as they know who’s in charge, I promise things won’t escalate.”

Unfortunately, his boss thinks differently of his method. As commissioner, Sanda reminds him constantly that he should show a stronger arm with men who were barely eighteen. Everyday she reminds him that he is the only Sheriff in this town. He cannot afford to be lax. There is a reputation at stake. So he shakes his head while maintaining his sense of duty into making Kerberos a town that upholds justice to the highest standard without becoming a dictatorship.

Mrs. Hutchins shakes her head before resting a heavy hand on Shiro’s shoulder. Her face was the first that he saw when he returned to Kerberos four years ago. At that time, he was an unemployed ex-soldier coming home from overseas, and he would help part-time with maintaining stock and keeping the floor clean. He still remembers the flavor of her famous salted caramel chews: buttery with a bold hint of amaretto. Candy prices have remained the same since the General store opened in 1964 despite other products having to change with the times.

While taking exams to officially apply to the Kerberos Police Department, it was his mode of focus. Something to keep the muck from stirring up…

Straight ahead in the center of the shopping plaza and adjacent to the police station lies the old cypress where his childhood and it's memories remain dormant. It’s branches peel from a vibrant mahogany to a sickly ashen gray, and where warm tones would confetti to the ground now are stubborn stunted growths. The tree has long been clinging to life from oak wilt, and Shiro can barely recognize it as he swallows a thick mass in his throat.

_“Looks like you’ve been involved with a lot more than just people watching, Dr. Slav.”_

Shiro interrupts his sad nostalgia and listens in on the voices that carry in the parking lot.

The young man who is responsible towers over the shorter man that wears a slicked-back corporate cut and a three-piece brown tweed suit. He snatches a notebook from him and shakes it at him menacingly.

“It would behoove you to give that back to me. Ten hours of work tampered with will equal a long time frame of your suffering! Approximately three months!”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” The youth, whose thickly-lined fur over coat drapes like the arrogant wealth that his reputation speaks of, shakes the papers wildly from the notebook and watches casually as they sink into mud puddles. “Because I think your own demons are your worst enemy, professor psycho!”

Slav frets and scrambles to gather the ruined pieces of his masterpiece.

“Sebastian, stop!” Shiro marches to him with a sharp point of his finger.

“Not in the mood, Sheriff!” the boy turns sharply over to Slav with his dark brown, wavy hair whipping against his cheeks.

When Shiro reaches for his arm, he attempts to knock Shiro to the ground with a foot sweep. After that sorry attempt he launches a fist inches from Shiro’s face and at this moment, Shiro snaps into self-defense mode and locks the boy in a kneeling position with his foot pressed against the back of his knee caps. Sebastian's arms are forcefully pinned behind his back as he cries with a painful grimace.

“Someone needs to cool you off. Maybe time in a holding cell will be enough of a reflection for you.”

Shiro radios for two officers to take Sebastian to the county jail while he sees to Slav.

“Countless days, endless nights. All evaporated because of a run-in with a snot-nosed bully!” Slav begins to tear his hair out, then dusts his hands of the thin strands.

“Did you do or say anything to provoke him?” Shiro asked while stooping over to shake out the ruined pages.

And Slav loses his composure on the spot, “I saw him getting ready to rob a soda from Mrs. Hutchin’s stand, so I blew the whistle on him! He got mad at me and started calling me names…”

Shiro knew that Sebastian was the ringleader of the group of troublemakers. When he was alone, much more so. Though being in jail delayed his shenanigans, it was only a matter of time that the precinct would be bending to demands from the Mayor to release his son from such a small charge. Except that attempting to assault an officer was anything but small...

“When that boy attacked me, he invited a 95 percent chance that something vile would happen to him, mark my words.”

Shiro heard every bit of the threat, yet his eyes are currently fixed on a particular sketch that he picks up. Rough pencil strokes of skulls and of elven ears…

“Slav, would you like to join me for coffee?” Shiro asks not out of pity, but as more of a gesture of good faith that hopefully interrupts whatever Dr. Slav’s wrath decides to manifest. And maybe he can get some answers…

.~.~.~.

He’s known as the “village heretic”, or what’s commonly known as “the town cuckoo”. With a hooked nose and a stature most diminutive, it’s a wonder that no one else has tried to lay a hand on this guy. In the Kerberos University Community, he is esteemed colleague Dr. Slav from a prominent suburb in India. Shiro recognizes the Southwest Asian accent immediately because he is the only one in town with it.

“You have never met me, but I have been watching you from afar. There was an eighty five percent chance you and I would meet today.”

“And what about the other fifteen?” Shiro swallows the sugar that settles at the bottom of his mug and briefly shivers as the sweetness coats his throat. Or it could be from the sheer discomfort of knowing that owlish eyes such as his have been following him everywhere.

“Only an anomaly.”

“Just how closely have you been watching me?”

“The only information I do not have is where you live.”

That was a relief.

“I apologize for my manners." He stopped to introduce himself, though Shiro already heard of him, "and I have been researching strange phenomenon having to do with stars and beings who live amongst them.”

“Are these beings portrayed in one of your sketches? I took a look at one while helping you clean up…”

Slav takes a spoon and starts adding a liberal amount of liquid cream to his coffee while he stirs. “You must not tell a soul. Not a one!” He lowers his voice to a whisper, “I am currently researching stories I’ve heard of otherworldly beings and healing phenomena.”

“Urban legends?” Shiro’s tone matches the other man’s secrecy.

“No no no! Wrong! These things are real and happening as they speak!”

Shiro leans back with his arms resting on the table’s edges, eyes widening in surprise at this man’s sudden outburst. The man apologizes and folds his arms with a deep sigh. “They are called _star dwellers_.”

“Star dwellers?” Shiro decides to humor him.

“Celestial beings who descend from the matter that we see at night. They usually show up when life on earth is in a crisis.”

“Okay…”

He sets his coffee mug down and excuses himself to flag the waitress for the check. But the man suddenly mentions that because his bill came out with a price comprised of odd digits that he “absolutely should pay for it.”

“They were $3.75. Our coffees with tax included. I did the math prior.”

Shiro can feel his thoughts beginning to steam into vapor at this point. If the man insisted, then he wasn’t going to object. The most likely catch was that he would be seeing Dr. Slav again in the future.

.~.~.~.

He lights incense again for the fourth time this week and prays, the veil of the small tone fading as he hits the bowl-shaped chime resting between the portraits of his parents.

Four years after their deaths, and Shiro clearly remembers life belonging to those portraits. His _tousan's_ elbow-length black hair worn in a ponytail most days. His well-groomed beard that began to speckle with gray throughout. Shoulders built sturdy as he stood tall from his youth as a military police officer.

In slight contrast, Shiro's own stature carries the further weight of a metallic prosthetic that was once his right arm. Ashen white marks a fringe of midnight black hair.

_Kaasan _was a delicate woman, lips brightly red with youth. He can recognize the almond curve of her eyes when he looks in the mirror, mostly lines hardened with resolve these days. The DNA of her nose marred with a triangular-shaped scar on the bridge.

Plumeria and sage still emit from the delicate pages of her sketchbook as he takes a moment to explore each work of art. Intricate sketches of ordinary people and fantasy creatures mark them. Some in particular have captivated him many times, accompaniments of stories his mother told him before bedtime of humans with long, elfish ears and the ability to bring back what was once dead to life.

_“When I was six years old, our family went camping one Spring and we found a tree that was by itself and dying. Before going to sleep, I wished upon a star for that tree’s healthy recovery. When I opened my eyes in the middle of the night, I saw a dark-skinned man touch the tree as the most gorgeous Cypress blossoms spread throughout. By morning, it was as if that old tree were brand new again.”_

The man wears porcelain pearl armor, a hero from a fairy tale book. White hair pulled back into a short ponytail with ears that are prominently diamond-shaped. _Alforu_ is written next to him in opaque black ink.

His thoughts flash back to the exact moment he retrieved a soggy page from Dr. Slav, with a picture of the same being. _A star dweller_.

He thinks it best to leave a message with the department of Anthropology at the Kerberos College before exposing himself to twenty-degree frost in the middle of the night. Too bad the university is closed tonight and he does not have his direct line. Maybe calling in the morning is the right move.

.~.~.~.

The opaque midnight hue of the lake’s waves continues to calmly brush toward him as he leans on his balcony. The ridge of land laps up the splash and takes a different perspective once he absorbs the sound of it licking in his ears. It’s such a melancholic sheet of gray above that will soon crack open heavy droplets. And it appears to get darker the longer he stays out here. Shiro knows a storm is coming. Trees appear like lesser shadows of thickets yards away.

His gaze wanders to the other side of the bay that cannot be reached without wandering through the maze of trees that lead to it.

There is something faintly blue there…a person?

Shiro runs straight to his father’s small boat tied to the dock, hoping that the wooded planks have just enough vitality in them to rescue the stranded woman. He uncoils the ropes and pushes it until it bobs stably on the ripples. A few minutes later, he makes it successfully and climbs out.

Her form is much clearer up close: clad in a blue dress with sparkles that glimmer and stand out like rare diamonds waiting to be discovered. Her starlight-abundant hair blankets over her where she sleeps, tangled and true to the form of something that has seen better days.

He cups her face gently, scanning for any sight of life; a breath, maybe even a moan of pain. Nothing. Her lips are graying from the water’s subzero temperature, deeply rich earth-toned skin hollowed with slight lake-washed bloat.

As thunder begins to rumble, he prays it’s only for now. 

.~.~.~.

By the time that he brings the woman back to his cabin and changes her out of her damp clothes, she is lying in front of the fireplace sound asleep as the embers slowly bathe her in a curtain of warmth. Underneath the heavy fleece blanket, she is nude, strictly to regulate her body temperature in case of hypothermia. Frostbite could have easily settled in if he did not find her an hour earlier. Pneumonia would be the least of her problems...

Two more hours pass until he decides to bring a blanket from the linen closet and make his bed in the chair above her. Rain is cascading full-blown now and it is all he can hear as the gentle percussion, with the boom of thunder, brings him to a weary sleep.

.~.~.~.

The only indication of morning comes when Shiro’s eyes blink open enough to notice the gray fog of daylight pressed against windows that have dewed from the previous night’s rain.

Shiro leaves a message with Dr. Slav’s message box vaguely telling him about the mysterious woman he found. Yet, something akin to fear washes in his throat the moment he considers revealing how his mother’s artwork matching the doctor’s notes.

Thanks to a monthly day off, Shiro spends the next four hours of his morning monitoring for the women's signs and is thankful to see a gentle rise and fall of her chest.

He crosses over to the kitchen with a brainstorm of a simple recipe that could possibly taste decent with only carrots and wild-caught fish as his ingredients. He tried a farm fresh delivery service with the pension he receives from military benefits and these days decided that it was nothing but a hassle. If he were married to someone who cared about that kind of thing, let them have at it.

The crisp slicing of raw carrots is the only sound brushing between the soft confines of the kitchen and the connecting space of the living room, where he can hear the embers from a fresh set of burning logs crackling. He sighs, pushing the carrots into a heavy ceramic bowl with one fine swipe of his knife. 

Shiro exhales angrily, wondering who would leave that woman in such a careless state... 

_Where am I?_

The voice is a petal of British dialect, sleepy and sluggish.

“Just take it easy, you're in the Shirogane family cottage. If I didn’t find you when I did, you would’ve-”

“Why am I naked?” she peaks under her blanket with narrow eyes bordering a frown. “What have you done with my dress?!”

“I _had _to undress you, or else you would’ve suffered hypothermia. Or lost fingers and toes to frostbite…”

“Are you a doctor?” She eyes him scrupulously.

He swallows, “No… But I _have _advanced first aid training from my time in the military. Everything I did was for the sole purpose of saving your life!” Shiro can’t help but feel indignant despite a grounding sigh; who wakes up from a near-death situation with _that_ as their first concern?

After a heavy exhale, she begins to close the openings to the blanket where they gather at her thigh and flare outward, “I have no memory...” She frets as she folds her legs underneath her.

"Please, just take it easy. You must have been through quite an ordeal.“ Her fretting was jump-starting a flutter of anxiety in his own chest, "I have a fresh change of clothes ready for you in the room down the hallway and to the right, when you’re up to it. And there’s something to eat…” He awkwardly points to the mixture of carrots and fish that have been cooking in the crockpot to the point where he could safely serve it if he was ready.

The young woman appears to accept his invitation in a fog of contemplation, “Perhaps it's best that I regain my strength.”

After a long moment has passed, Shiro makes the plates and the woman comes out wearing all black. An old skin-tight sweater that fits like a tunic on her slim frame. A thick pair of old thermals fit somewhat loosely on her bottom half.

Shiro can’t help but take notice at how her starlight hair curtains in thick curls down her back and around her buxom. Ears pointy yet curved perfectly in proportion to her oval-shaped face. Her beauty is too otherworldly for him to ignore, as if she were an angel.

When she comes to the table, they spend a while in silence. The timbre of utensils is all that sounds as Shiro convinces himself that what he has cooked isn’t badly bland as hell. The woman simply pokes at the carrots on her plate and scrapes at the fish before taking a bite-size morsel.

“This is very _fresh_. What is the name of the machine you used to make it?” 

“It’s called a Crockpot. Something I use when I don’t have time to cook, which sadly, is often.” He shrugged. It was also something he operated in order to pretend he was a chef and not a complete fraud. On tour overseas, it was either a wooden-induced fire or someone’s heavily used cookware borrowed strictly to get rid of impurities; as soldiers, they were not on vacation or at home.

To this day Shiro's spice racks remain empty.

“Please forgive my lack of etiquette. My name is Sheriff Takashi Shirogane. 

She squints with a stare wandering to her left, “I’m…Allura.”

“It’s a relief to see you better, Allura.” He works hard to think of something else besides tempering the growing thump in his chest. “How are you feeling?”

“Woozy. Almost as if I had been asleep for a very long time.” She brings more food to her mouth and huffs softly.

“And no memories prior?”

She responds with a quiet sip of water, the sound of her glass returning to wood making a quiet knock.

“I can talk more about myself if you want.”

“It you desire.”

He finds himself revealing the twelve-hour shifts as sheriff and about the residential area being a little livelier than his cabin. He mentions casually that this house belongs to him, thanks to a vigorous paying off of the mortgage. Off the cuff, he is only twenty-five-years old and has been able to _make the kind of money to pay off a mortgage_. For now, it is all he can bear to talk about despite the rare ease with which it comes out. 

“Do accept my apology.”

“For what?”

“Intruding. Into your home, your life…” specks of sadness caught her eye as she folded her hand on her lap. "For being unable to tell you anything about my own life."

He understood. With all traces of her memories erased, how else would she begin to connect?

“You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

His phone rattles on the table and he excuses himself to take the call on the balcony.

.~.~.~.

“Dr. Slav? Yes, this is Shirogane. We had coffee yesterday morning…”

Shiro is relieved that Slav agrees to meet with him at his house. But there's one small condition...

_“You must pick me up_.”

“Oh, do you not have a mode of transportation?”

_“I simply feel that my being in the car alone will produce a portion of the multiverse that will be responsible for a wreck or a flat tire or my being lost.”_

“What about a rideshare?”

“Absolutely not! I cannot afford to put my fate in the hands of a stranger! You’re my saving grace today, Sheriff.”

Shiro burrows a sigh so heavy that it stings his throat.

“I cannot do that, professor. My license...” He almost tells him until trepidation prevents the rest of that sentence from spilling out. If it had not been for the anchoring serenity of the lake’s current below...

"I hear a big "no" in your voice, Sheriff."

"That's _exactly_ what I mean."

"And just how do you expect me to get over there? Should I simply tap my feet and snap my fingers to "poof" in front of your door?!" 

At this moment, Shiro deadpans. He is gritting his teeth and trying to refrain from cracking his knuckles with the banister in his grip, "Dr. Slav, you are resourceful and I am sure you will figure it out." He concludes the phone call politely with his voice as calm and steady as he can muster.

He goes inside to tell Allura about the important guest that may be joining them for dinner tonight, “Dr. Slav from our community college might have answers for the both of us.”

“I’m counting on that.” She says with an exhale.

.~.~.~.

When Dr. Slav finally reaches the cottage door, he looks down at the straw mat as though the “welcome” were written in a foreign language and takes great care to wipe his feet in places that do not stain the words written. 

Shiro unlocks the door and motions with a "welcome”, his brow furrowed with simmering exasperation. Slav stops after coming in with a stare that reminds Shiro of a lighthouse beacon looking out for floating bodies. It feels unsettling. 

"Dr. Slav, this is Allura. Allura, Dr. Slav from Kerberos Community College."

Slav begins analyzing Allura and observing her like his personal patient, posture straight with his fist perched under his chin. “She doesn’t have any sniffles or broken bones, I supposed keeping her here is the right thing for her.”

“Okay-” The former soldier starts to protest, whether Slav meant that as a joke or not.

What naturally concerns the professor was the lack of information that Allura is able to grant him about her background or where she lives. After taking a deep breath, he begins to speak.

“My dear. According to calculations of when a star falls and how long you have been here in Mr. Shirogane’s cabin, you must have fallen roughly ten thousand light years from the cosmos.”

“Well it’s more than obvious that I’m not from “here”, per say…” She mentions with a light stroke of her hair behind her long ears.

“I mean you to say you are a celestial being! Fallen from the sky in times when a corner of the Earth is in great calamity! My grandfather spoke to a great man with your features, as did my great grandfather before him. I could continue with my giant family tree, but that would waste valuable time!”

Shiro excuses himself, remembering the sketches from his mother’s book with a small wave of vertigo. He was going to expose them for something that might be much larger than his symbol of a childhood relic. And if that disenchantment was a fantasy that would be more helpful in the open, then so be it.

“Allura, there’s something I want you to see...” 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _12-29: Improved wording and eliminated inconsistencies_  
Chapter 2 introduces more plot, as well as Allura's POV because she is incredibly important to the plot.  
Thank you guys for being patient with me, now that the weather has changed and I have extra free time for a bit, I'm more inspired to write.

Allura's fingers caress the careful wrinkles where once-dampened oil made weight on pages in a cornucopia of colors.

"Your mother painted these from memory?" 

The next turn of the page stops her breath cold and gravitates her sight closer. It is the picture of a man whose armor is brewed in shades of cosmic silvers and white golden dust.

“I was only a child when she created these. It blows my mind to imagine what must have went through her mind. The stories…”

“This man…”

Shiro tunes in to Allura’s mood as she covers her mouth in astonishment. He asks if she recognizes him. Despite the grit of her teeth, whatever else she wants to say appears to die on her tongue right then and there.

“Your mother had a gift. These are breathtaking…

“Those belong in the research department at Kerberos Community’s Art Department!”

Normally, the crazy scientist’s aggressive theories and suggestions do little more than knock at the edges of Shiro’s steely nerves. This is different somehow.

“No way.” The sparks of his voice crackle under his breath.

“You must consider it! This is history we are...”

“Dr. Slav!” He repeats, this time more firmly.

With a rattled sigh, he apologizes to their forlorn expressions and reminds Slav that this book is a family heirloom and will remain in the Shirogane family tree. Not much in this house has been allowed to stay. His mother’s essence did not deserve to belong in some museum where people would wonder who the faceless artist was.

.~.~.~.

_The scenery blurs and bleeds with weight beyond the chaos as the shrieking of metal and of glass shingles pierce the soundscape._

_ Shiro can barely find strength to process his surroundings through excruciating pain in his sinus area. A stream of blood forms a mass in his peripheral. _

_ He rises and gasps as he measures the distance in yards that the car has thrown his body through the windshield. His blurred vision allows him to see nothing more than that as weakness threatens to drag him back into partial consciousness. He tries to crawl towards the car, to give his body another chance to redeem itself. The car is now a mangled mess of metal. _

_ A sheer outline of white, blue, and pink is the last thing Shiro sees before his vision pixelates._

.~.~.~.

He shoots up from his drenched pillows with nausea and a racing heart greeting him somberly.

With just one dose left, his prescription should renew automatically for pick-up at the Black Lion pharmacy tomorrow morning. As always, he will head over there before work.

His therapist stressed in the beginning that flashbacks, even on the sertraline, would be part of his healing process. But Shiro counted on that further down the road, it was just too inconvenient to deal with here and now. His remedy is simple: keep going to work and maintaining what friendships he has; even if the threat of remembrance does it’s damnedest to barge in.

Maybe it’s been the weather since Daylight savings ended. That whole thing never made sense _at all_. Yet the lack of sunlight hasn’t been his enemy completely; what else will awaken him when his phone vibration won't?

“C’mon, got a household to feed…” 

.~.~.~.

Allura has been with him for two weeks as of today, and he admits that the company has been welcoming for now. Something inside of him blooms every day and every minute that he sees her out in the yard with the sun fall washing over her back-length hair. She allows herself to bathe in the light as if it’s something that belongs solely to her. Something cracks open gently like the stone of an almond, leaving something vulnerable. Yet he’s firm in his resolve to not indulge too much in the gratitude of this vision.

He turns away and searches for a bowl to mix two eggs in. There is some bread somewhere in the pantry that he can make breakfast with.

Meal time between he and Allura continues in silence. After the third fork of food, a corner of Allura’s mouth pokes out. Shiro knows that expression. It’s what anyone looks like when they carry a strong opinion about something without intending to be rude.

“Go ahead.”

“Go ahead and _what_?” She frowns slightly as if genuinely confused by the sudden question Shiro presented.

“Tell me what you _really _think of the food.”

“Well it’s edible, but…isn’t there anything to liven up the flavor just a little bit?”

Shiro notices that his breath has begun to accelerate a bit, and his swallows feel slightly bulkier now. His mind crawls back to the empty spice cabinet above the sink. “Uhh…I don’t normally add anything extra; food naturally comes with its own…_foodiness_.”

“Are you telling me that dormant baby zygotes season in their own juices? You do understand that it does not carry the essence of a carrot or a potato, right?”

“_Baby zygotes_?!” Shiro squints in mental pain and immediately considers going plant-based after such a raw comment. And the girl doesn’t even bat an eye. “Well, what would you suggest?”

Allura sits up a little straighter, “No longer cooking like a castaway for starters. Perhaps there’s someone in town that you can take lessons from?”

Shiro responds to her with a soft moan, because he already feels the weakness of defeat relaxing his shoulders. All it takes is a trip down memory lane to remember that Mrs. Hutchins has a spice rack against the wall with stuff like cayenne pepper and Himalayan salt crystals.

“I can only see Mrs. Hutchins during my lunch break. Right now, I have to be at the precinct.”

“Then I’ll go out myself and explore town. Maybe Dr. Slav would like to accompany me.”

“What did you say?”

“I’m going to Kerberos while you’re at work.”

“You can’t do that, Allura.” The reminder of his responsibility over hers kicks in until he’s on his feet with a hand on his hips and shoulders squared. Despite his pose of authoritative assertion, she mirrors his stance with a looser form of rebellion.

“I can’t continue to confine myself like this, Shiro. There must be a change of scenery…” She declares.

What she cannot match is the nauseating spell of panic that timbers in his chest and vibrates to his throat. That world: the one that is several feet from the elevation of his cabin and land, is just too foreign for her. Vehicles, stores,_ humans_. Those in town would definitely treat her like an endangered species or a freak, yet such toxic sentiments are far from what Shiro feels when he looks at her. 

He sternly reminds her; “People will not know what to make of your appearance, Allura. The answer is no.”

“I don’t need your permission to go anywhere, Shiro!” Allura’s tone is just as firm with a bite of challenge bleeding to her eyes. “I have plenty of ways of disguising myself.”

And something washes over Shiro that has him standing flustered and stammering. “Oh yeah? Well…well as long as you live under _my roof_, you _will _follow my rules!”

Allura mouths a nonchalant yet simmering “alright”, dual-toned eyes dimmed to a dull glow. 

“Allu-”

He listens to her feet shuffle out of the room until the door to the guest room closes resoundingly. He sighs roughly, gripping the bridge of his nose and storms out the front door, then remembers that a sheriff without a badge is a taunted man walking and grabs the metal star and keys from the front door tray.

.~.~.~.

When Shiro arrives to work, he immediately spots the cell where Sebastian is being held. All the young man does is flash a middle finger, and Shiro, who is still frazzled from earlier, sees it as incredibly juvenile.

His secretary stops him before he can continue walking, “Officer Shirogane, Sanda wants to see you.”

On a morning like this, something besides heartburn rumbles in his chest.

He makes a right to the office where Sanda’s placard is perched above the door and knocks.

“_Come in, Shirogane.”_

“Sanda, Amy said you wanted to see me?”

“Mayor Cole came by this morning and spoke to me about Sebastian’s conduct. He says to keep him behind bars indefinitely.”

That was a great piece of news. Maybe it would send a clear message to his friends about there being consequences to their actions. “I wonder what changed his mind?”

“This is what happens when you are consistent.” The woman commends him despite a speck of frustration in her firm tone, “You have all the right instincts, but your intentions as of late have been wayward. I hope that next time it does not take attempted assault on a sheriff or another member of this town for you to act.”

“No, ma’am.” Shiro tilts his head straight the moment he wants to drivel into self-reflection in front of her.

“Dismissed.”

.~.~.~.

One last pill, about half the size of his pinky. He never likes the flavor in his throat as it goes down. Too bad crushing the damn thing and stirring into water would not yield the same results. He’s thought about smoking marijuana on his days off instead, but what a fine impression of Kerberos he would make. Was it even legal in these parts?

Shiro shuffles through paperwork on Sebastian Cole. The son of the mayor who once spent time in juvenile hall after physically assaulting a female classmate. Word of mouth claimed it was sexually motivated; simply being told “no” in the face of his advances. There were failed attempts to rehabilitate his anger issues, but now that he was eighteen, only a court-ordered mandate would push for more effective counseling.

He could just go under house arrest in his father’s estate, but no. Orders were orders.

His beleaguered brain travels back to the dream he endured last night. The terror of fight and flight create a blurred line between his time overseas and the accident four years ago. Fighting for his parents, running away to save a comrade…_no!_ No time for ruminating!

He rises up and pushes in his wooden chair before the overcast of day can shadow the confines of his office.

Before he heads to town, he goes to Sebastian’s cell and gives him the news of his extended stay in the cell. The boy seems fairly comfortable now that he’s using his heavy fur coat as a blanket.

“The old man’s a genius. If I stay here, there’s no reason for me to have a day in court, which means I won’t have to undergo shitty rehab.”

“Your father loves this town and will do what’s best for the people who love it as well, even if it’s to teach his eighteen-year-old son a lesson about self-control. Let’s hope you see the truth sooner than later.”

Despite the coolness in which the boy folds his arms and slinks on the cool metal cot, it surprises Shiro to see the most sardonic cackle escape him as he trembles. His lips twist mockingly, “How does it _feel_ knowing that you’re never _really_ in charge, Sheriff?”

“Come again?” Shiro tilts his head with his voice an octave higher and eyebrows creased.

You’re just a puppet dressed in a uniform: being dangled in front of this town like it’s some cardboard city.” After shifting, he rises and saunters to the bars, now inches from where Shiro stands, “Or like some _bitch_ on a very short leash.”

“Watch it, Cole!” Shiro bears a heavy reprimanding gaze into him before turning and marching away.

“Curb the idealism and wake up!”

Sebastian’s words slide down his neck like sludge and Shiro grits his teeth from the phantom molestation of it. He emphasizes for Amy to update him on _anything_ and he will come right back.

.~.~.~.

In this small town of Kerberos Hills, the only “crisis” Shiro ever deals with comes in the form of juvenile delinquency, or something as small as accidentally pouring soy sauce from an unmarked bottle onto his waffles. He used to be that boy who dreamed and believed that other cultures besides the all-mighty human being existed on different galaxies and among the stars. There was a period in young Takashi Shirogane’s life when he thought nothing of climbing in his window and wishing upon a star. God, that felt like _lifetimes_ ago.

Sebastian was right, much to Shiro’s bitter disgust. So much of his life had indeed been out of his control since he became that nineteen-year-old hopeful enlisting into the U.S. Army. Many his age saw it as a fast track to real-world success, others simply wanted to get out of their middling surroundings. All Shiro wanted was to follow in his father’s footsteps while eventually charting off to a more idealistic notion of saving the world from tyranny.

He ruffles from a sudden chill and rubs the metallic sham of what used to be his other arm before he got it amputated in the military’s infirmary. That day it was such a mangled, gnashed hunk of sinewy muscle and there was no way it would ever be functional on its own again. But Shiro did not know what was more traumatic then; losing his right arm or succumbing to the sight and secondhand screams of his beloved comrades with twisted appendages and blood-soaked fatigues.

To say he’s seen some shit over the years...

Shiro takes another sip of his coffee, trying to relax into the vibration of the voice colony behind him. A husband and a wife, two elderly parents chattering over their meals. It sickens him with sadness and longing when he hears a family such as theirs. It reminds him of his parents before his recklessness tore them apart. It’s only a matter of time before the remaining shreds of that idealistic young man withers away. 

He is nobody’s son.

“I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Slav takes no time in setting in the booth across from Shiro. He can easily send him away just like that; he really _should_, based on how shitty he feels right now. But wherever he shows up there is usually something important.

“I only have ten more minutes.”

“If ten more minutes spent sulking and blowing whirlwinds in your coffee counts as a “break”, then you might want to listen to this.” He causes a small commotion with his fat folder stack making slapping noises on the Formica tabletop.

Shiro puffs his cheeks and blow until the pressure of impatience eases in his chest.

“Dr. Slav-”

“Ah!” he pulls out a page with a few sentences of black text.

Shiro speed-read’s it in less than a moment and deadpans. Perplexity cuts into him like heat from a freshly forged knife. “You wrote a love poem?”

“I was a gifted poet back in my day, before quantum physics took my hand and proposed to me in junior high. Remember when I told you that I met a man of the star. This was what I wrote before he went back home. I felt as though every single multiverse event conspired to leave that unfinished.”

“So… will you finish it or…”

“Absolutely not. I do have an entire notebook of about thirty pieces of prose and limericks…”

“Dr. Slav. Maybe we should continue this conversation later.” Shiro titters uneasily.

“So soon?”

“I sense a disturbance in the force.” Shiro murmurs in false seriousness as he politely places two dollars in Slav’s hands and an extra two on the edge of the table. “Please enjoy a cup of coffee on me.”

Outside, Shiro suckers an exhale through his teeth and is on his way to Mrs. Hutchin’s store for those spices he promised Allura.

.~.~.~.

Shiro falls into a resounding sleep no later than when the clock’s small hand hits the eleven. Allura can quietly slip out the front door while turning his key gingerly through the lock, then begin her trip into town. It’s easy, considering what large footprints Shiro’s boots make in the snow.

It’s not that she needs his permission to go anywhere, really. But something akin to sympathy enveloped her when he came home tonight with eyes glazed and lined with exhaustion. Work must have been especially tough for him today.

Therefore, what he does not know will not arouse him in anyway.

.~.~.~.

Most of the city has dwindled in energy by then with lights that have dimmed or snuffed completely. She can notice shadows passing back and forth into store windows, silhouettes from those who are ready to go home and prepare for the next night. Shiro tells her of these people, yet some innate part of her is well aware of civilization in general. She may not remember where she comes from, but she can recognize a city or a town when she sees it.

She pulls the strings on her bright grey hoodie until they conceal her exposed ears and seal away the snap of the air.

According to other stories that Shiro has told her, the town has stood the test of time since the 1800s. It is a quaint, tightly-knit enclave with a population of two thousand people who are very proud of their history and of their consistent roots. Mostly mom and pop shops line the streets and there is not a franchise to be found for miles. A community college for those who want to study the humanities and social sciences; that must be where Dr. Slav spends his time.

Something tingles at her feet until it climbs to the brims of her fingertips and envelops the crown of her head with energy. _Barely here_, the energy communicates. She follows the sensation outward until it amplifies to a warm embrace. Through her vision, a lone tree decays and appears sickly despite the sudden filter of pale gold that she witnesses it through. It is about one hundred feet tall with branches that are withered and dangling.

“How long have you been suffering here?” she whispers to the dying monolith.

Like a magnet, static brings her palms to the wide trunk and presses them there until whatever was filled up within her begins to drain from her body slowly and steadily. Gray transitions to the most vibrant mahogany. Broken twigs reanimate into sturdier branches that branch into bright green needles before fading rapidly to red, creating a thick blanket at the base of its trunk.

“You can rest easily now.” She murmurs peacefully.

.~.~.~.

When she bids the tree goodbye for now, she continues on the lighted sidewalk.

“HEY! HEY YOU!”

They are adolescents, barely in the beginning stages of adulthood. One man with a short cap and a black trench coat comes staggering out of the only lively place on the block. His smile is crooked, and he holds on to the shoulders of his younger companions with lidded eyes.

“Hey, baby! My big brother here wants to get with you! Why you alone?”

“I’m not interested, good night.” It’s all Allura can say with her back facing them and tone firm. She expects that it will make her point without engaging these strangers.

“_Please_! What woman hangs out by themselves if they didn’t want something badly enough?” The older man who is clearly inebriated saunters over to her with a lurid expression clamoring in his eyes. “Come back to the mansion with us and find out what we do for fun.”

This time, Allura is more than a little bothered. “Haven’t I made myself clear? Look at you! You smell like alcohol!”

“There’s other things I wanna smell like…” He rasps with a slur before gripping her shoulder.”

Allura seizes that cursed hand and grips his arm with her free hand. He wails as she flips him over with a small grunt, sending him on his back with an acute groan.

His comrades erupt in howls and cringe as they scatter from a tight knit line. A blaring horn pierces the youth of night, causing all the men to curse.

“Go home, now! Or else I’m bringing Shirogane back _in person _to deal with you knuckleheads!”

_Shirogane._

They finally scatter, dragging the KO’d man with him. 

The same voice, now warm and flowery, asks Allura what she is doing out here so late at night. Allura realizes that it’s coming from one of the strange transports on wheels. It belongs to a woman with tight auburn curls against her wide neck and rounded glasses framing her heart-shaped face.

“I’ve never seen you around here before…” She freezes and looks over to the large tree, mouth ajar in astonishment. “That cannot be the same tree! Takashi and I were just talking about what a shame it was for it to just wither and die. It’s been part of my childhood, planted when my daddy was a young man…”

_Takashi? This lady must be Mrs. Hutchins. _

“It’s hibernating now. Let’s hope that it stays nice and healthy.” Allura says as the woman stands next to her.

“Wonder what the Mayor’s gonna say about this. He was _this_ close to digging it up and sending it to the forest to die…” After she sighs, she turns to Allura, “Would you like a ride home? I don’t live that far if you’re going North…”

“It’s quite alright. I’ll be heading over on my own.”

“Oh, no. Not this time of night. Please let me at least take you halfway.”

She could accept that.

“My name is Gloria. But everyone in town calls me Mrs. Hutchins.”

Allura reveals her name, which Mrs. Hutchins thought sounded gorgeous. The woman detects her accent and asks if it’s from England or something. Allura fakes a sure answer, resisting the urge to play with her hair.

The woman carries her halfway up the hill to the road that begins just minutes away from Shiro’s house. She thanks the woman and closes the passenger door before the woman signals her with the gentle jingle of keys.

“Can’t leave these behind…”

“No, we can’t.”

Soon Allura comes back inside the house without a peep, then strips and falls into bed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (by the way, I also increased the number of chapters, so prepare for some madness) ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I did not realize it's been eight months until I looked at the last chapter publication date (yikes). Rest assured that it is absolutely _not_ like me to leave something hanging for that long! I just don't like doing that!
> 
> This is one of my more ambitious attempts at writing so I've had a tricky time with this story. I knew right away how I was going to start this fic off, but no clue on how to get from A to Z where the major plot components were concerned. And when I'm stuck, I get distracted with other things, take on too many smaller projects, and before I know it, we are eight months into 2020.
> 
> So if you are still waiting for updates, congratulations and thank you for being so patient! Thank you Imawriteritswhatido for your comment and your encouragement.  
Lastly, so sorry for keeping _you guys_ hanging without any clue to what going on. 
> 
> The good news is that a few things happened while this story was on hiatus:  
-I divorced Tumblr and am in a relationship with Instagram now (there's artwork and future story snippets so you guys can take a sneak at previews if you want.)  
-I already got a chunk of Chapter 4 written out, and this one is deep...  
-Added some more songs to the Spotify Soundtrack
> 
>   
[♪Spotify Playlist/Fic Soundtrack♪](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/43kIucKtexYvOokrpgRvGz?si=BU0627tORsaoCaXduFgxpA)  
[My Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/teal_rainbeau/)  
[Fandom Feedback Drawing](https://www.instagram.com/p/CDc9oEPjXmw/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)

Allura sits up and rubs her eyes deeply. Her dream was rather tranquil; taking place in a palace of some sort. Ceilings that contained numerous embedded gleams. Windows covered in blue frost, almost like an ice cave, but behind the gloss were canvases of stars and of midnight navy stone. Darkness that was welcoming to the soul and gentle on the sight.

The best mornings happen when there is just enough sheen of light that sits just so until it lingers. Raindrops slide down the window next to her, much thicker and wider than their usual fall.

This is snow.

And no wonder the chill from the glass is almost unbearable this time around. 

She allows the images from her dream to dance in her head once again, uninhibited. Once she finds it rote to squeeze the joy and sense of belonging from those memories, her brain turns to questioning: Why _here_? What is it about this present reality that was so important for her to embrace? If Slav’s words about her being a Celestial being were true, last night was evidence that she had the power to sustain life in her fingertips.

Then that meant something was in danger of dying soon… 

Her vision begins to swim the moment she sits up and her feet touch the carpet. Maybe she should have slept longer.

In the distance the door swings open gingerly and shuts just as much.

_“If you pour that much paprika, you’ve just poisoned us all!”_ A woman’s voice dictates.

_ “Isn’t that what the recipe says?”_ Shiro fusses back.

Allura could have sworn Shiro was set to go in early this morning. But after replaying the second voice in her head, her throat falls to her stomach. “Mrs. Hutchins!” the words tumble from her mouth as she pulls strands of her hair together in a loose ponytail that sits to her neck, hair gathered enough to conceal her ears.

Though she should have nothing to hide regarding her nightly trip into town, it really is better that Shiro does not know. The man seems to be easygoing, but it’s tiring that he gets unusually overprotective where she is concern. 

So, she searches her armoire for something a little more cheery than the black leggings and sweater she has been living in for the past few weeks. A cute long-sleeved sweater in a shade of periwinkle with a charming little graphic of multicolored mice having their backs turned chipperly, a pair of light blue jeans…

Once she’s satisfied with her appearance, she opens the door and Shiro just happens to be on the other side.

“Good morning…” He half-frowns with a twisted pout and scans the sweater she is wearing.

“Um…I found it hanging in the armoire, I hope its…”

“No, it looks…cute on you. Don’t ever think I saw my mom wear that one.” He smiled. But the smile faded once he got note of how her eyelids narrowed slightly.

“I’m okay. Just need food.”

“I really want you to meet Mrs. Hutchins, she’s in the kitchen whipping up a family recipe, I’ll ask her to make a little bit more.” His hand finds the back of his head as he tells her that she did not mention Allura with him.

“I can handle this. It’s really much easier than you think.”

The moment she comes from her room the woman’s gaze sticks to her for a moment, like sap to a bark. Though still friendly, Allura detects a glint saturated with scrutiny, mouth twisted into a corner smirk.

“Oh! I didn’t know you had a guest, Takashi.”

Shiro’s hand finds a spot at the back of his head and his brow furrows outward until it’s stained with the worst vulnerability.

“Well…”

“I’m a nomad. I traveled here on my own. Just the supplies on my back.” Allura steps into the scenery casually, swallowing the discomfort from the false American accent she pulled off, and the lie she dreamed up on Shiro’s behalf.

And all she can do is shrug in reciprocation of how the frown and shrunken pupils contorts his face as he mouths, _“what the…?”_

Mrs. Hutchins continues to do most of the cooking, with Shiro doing his part like an eager child learning from his mother. Eggs crack open gingerly. Sprigs of rosemary and thyme sprinkle the mixture.

“I’m so sorry! What was your name, honey?”

“It’s…” She scans the kitchen setting for something she can use as a makeshift name. Something that’s believable…a notepad for _Brooks’ Bed and Breakfast _stuck to the refrigerator_. _

“Brooke.” Shiro mouths at the same time she does. They lock eyes for a brief moment before he takes the reigns.

“She’s from Tennessee. Used to live in a commune until she found her way here…” The soft scrap of a whisk brushes against a steel bowl as Mrs. Hutchins waits for his next bit of dialogue.

“I’ve heard stories about Kerberos’ famous tree. I’d expected to see it while it was brimming with leaves. Found it to be rather inspiring.”

“That wonder has been around since before Kerberos had a name. Nobody knows exactly how old it is. We’ve always assumed it was a Cypress...”

Shiro rests in the look of Mrs. Hutchin’s face as her cheeks twist. “Well, Brooke, in Kerberos, there is always a good a time as any to settle even if it’s for a little while.”

After more fussing and deliberate instruction from Mrs. Hutchins, Shiro sets the table and the older woman places the breakfast items just so, as if readying a place for royalty or someone else important. Before long, they immerse themselves in the tranquility of the morning and the interchange of satisfied hums and small talk. 

Shiro passes around a chunky medley of vegetables coated in a heavy substance on a small saucer. Allura remembers Earth food, but nothing like this.

He and Mrs. Hutchins talk about the appeal of this “salsa”, with Mrs. Hutchins mentioning names of brands that she has tried through the years. Shiro remembers one brand as being so spicy that he was tearing up for five minutes straight. Not surprising considering that flavor has not been a part of his palette for so long.

“Times really have changed. But not Kerberos. The town gets more desirable with time.”

“It’s a miracle the way the old tree has started getting better on its own.” Shiro mesmerizes as he chomps on another bite of his omelet.

“May I try some of that?” Allura points to the salsa while slipping to her usual dialect, then clears her throat and puts on her false one, “It looks delicious.”

Mrs. Hutchins frowns in contemplation then points at her as if noticing a celebrity, “Last night… I met someone that reminds me of you, like you could be sisters. Except her voice was all-British like your impression was…”

And Allura feigns not knowing a thing. She lets out a gutsy chortle and starts spooning liberal amounts of the stuff on her own eggs while joking about her vocal parlor trick.

Shiro raises an eyebrow and encourages the woman to continue.

“Anyway, she was a young woman like you. Said her name was Allura... I took her home last night after some of your favorite neighborhood rich boys messed with her. Dropped her off right here in this neigh…”

Allura immediately starts sputtering and gagging from the spiciness shooting down her throat. Mrs. Hutchins starts patting her on the back and Shiro offers his help by pushing a glass of milk in her direction.

Despite the near-death experience, the salsa is _divine._

.~.~.~.

Mrs. Hutchins scans the spread of homes before Allura decides to sit in the passenger seat. Shiro is even more scrutinizing of the vehicle than of the rest of his surroundings. With his arms bent to his hip he takes a deep breath and makes sure that everything is everything before settling uneasily in the back seat.

“What’s with the accent?”

“Just trying to fit in!” She admits while forcing her eyes to remain on his stare. “I imagine not many people here sound like me.”

“About what she said: that there was someone there that could’ve been your sister? Had a British Accent? Allura…” he continues with a rather paternalistic tone.

“What is a _British _accent?”

They cease talking like two teenagers working to keep a secret as Mrs. Hutchins sits behind the wheel. She explains that she was going to give “Allura” a ride if she ever caught her wandering again. Shiro mentions how much of a “shame” it was that the girl never met her fellow traveler face to face.

She assures him that if at any time they need to turn back around, she will without questions asked. Shiro thanks her and anchors his organic hand into hers.

Allura pretends not to notice the jitters coming from it as they continue on.

The walk to town at night pales in comparison to the much-shorter drive. During the daytime many of the Evergreens are vibrant in their shade as shown by the contrasting spatters of snow caking their needles. The lake has become stiller, not yet frozen solid from the temperature drop. It almost reminds her of a child’s painting.

Allura feels the sweet gravity tickling her bones as they go to a downward slope.

“Oh my God!” Shiro ripples under his breath.

“Take my hand. Take my hand!”

Mrs. Hutchins doesn’t seem to mind the pressure that Shiro injects in her hand each time he squeezes it and leaves it splotchy with scarlet. All she does is smile sadly as the man shuts his eyes tightly. Is this why he never drives? Allura swallows her curiosity and replaces it with a dose of sympathy fears. She wants to comfort him and console him in her embrace during this moment, but it’s something where watching from a distance is best during this time.

.~.~.~.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hutchins.

“It’s his day off, so try not to be too hard on him if he’s as subdued as a horse...” She pats him on the back and heads inside to open shop, muttering over how he still calls her Mrs. Hutchins instead of the much-less formal Gloria. It makes Allura coo inwardly at how tough she is despite reaching just below Shiro’s shoulder.

“What’s this?”

Shiro’s hand brushes against a paper taped to her window. The frost had not yet dampened the corners. A flyer requesting all residents of Kerberos attend a town-hall meeting at five o’clock today:

_We want to celebrate the miracle of our dear Cypress regaining its strength. _

He looks at Allura and goes back in the shop.

He asks the shopkeeper if she has seen this taped to the window, and she waves for him to bring it over as she’s wiping down display cases of cakes and bottles of something that Allura can’t make out.

While they discuss the flyer, she takes her time to look at the plethora of store displays: In the middle of the store are barrels of candies in baskets lined with checkered-patterned cloths. Shelves to the right lined with jars of red and purple (upon a closer look it’s jam and preserves), clothing hung on a rack to the far left, with more shelves along the wall behind it. Rotating racks of cards and beautiful artwork…one catches her eye of the mountain that she wakes up to several times a night. Whoever took this portrait must have been paying close attention, as its beauty has been captured with the precision of the naked eye.

She remembers to alter her phonetics before speaking up. “Your shop is beautiful. How long has it been open?”

The woman answers "fifty-six years”. Her grandfather owned it, passed it to her father, and then she kept it with her husband, who passed away five years ago. They never had an official display for the place because they chose to have patrons and out-of-towners name it themselves.

“But on the official business license, we call it Hutchins’ Hutch.”

Shiro sneaks a few salted caramels but fails when he receives a literal slap on the wrist. He pouts, “I was just gonna take a few!

“Without paying?! You were raised better than that, Takashi.” She whines with a playful scold.

He pouts and rubs his wrist, “I know that! Okay, here’s thirty dollars. Maybe you could put me on a subscription plan where I grab a handful a day?”

The woman can’t help but chuckle, “It takes me hours to mix the ingredients and form the texture. Can’t have my supply diminished every quarter because of you.”

Speaking of supply, Mrs. Hutchins goes to do inventory in the back of the store. It was now silent except for her keyboard typing in the background. Shiro slips another caramel chew in his mouth. But not even that gesture stopped him from turning to Allura with that interrogating lilt in his eyes. 

“I’m gonna ask you again, what’s with the accent?” he whispers.

Allura tilts her head upward, tired of hiding and pretending, “I left the house last night and we happened to run into each other. I was in disguise.”

“Okay…” He takes a deep exhale and folds his arms yet again.

“The girl she was talking about was _me_, the _real_ me. Therefore, I had to sound a bit different so she wouldn’t connect the dots.”

“Even then, it was dangerous to go without me, do you know…”

Allura scoffs and launches herself away from the counter, “I have had it up to **here** with you treating me like an infant or some puppy that doesn’t know any better. I’ve lost my memory, not my primary teeth!”

“Allura! Where are you going?”

“For some fresh air! Surely I do not need your permission to do that.”

As Shiro calls her, she takes a larger step until her arms stretch out and push the door from her path.

.~.~.~.

Shiro unwraps five of the caramels and shoves them in his mouth. There is something about the way liquor and taffy comfort his psyche when he’s not feeling like himself. Almost the way he does now. What is it about the acridness of Allura’s anger that smolders him the wrong way?

Maybe he’s the one in the wrong this time.

“Where’s Brooke?”

“Outside.”

Mrs. Hutchins simply shoves a fat handful of candy in the pocket of his bomber jacket and pats him away as if she’s sending a small child out to play. Much like she used to when the snow was falling in thick blankets and making a winter wonderland for him to explore and make snow angels. It makes something in his chest flicker with long-lost joy.

.~.~.~.

Allura is playing with one of the remaining leaves from the fall and doesn’t look up enough to see Shiro sitting next to her.

“I’m here to apologize. For making assumptions about your ability to acquaint yourself with this world.” He fishes out a wrapped candy.

She sets the leaf in her lap and looks at him, “You’re apologizing with candy?”

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t trust you deep down, it’s just…” He was going somewhere with this, but now he’s lost all over again.

Allura plays with the wrapper and turns to look at him, eyes alight with austerity, “You keep seeing me as that weird alien girl who was unconscious on a rock, not a capable being who is probably a thousand years older than you.”

“A thousand years?” Shiro murmured.

“Yes, Shiro. I’m probably older than your oldest ancestor.” Her voice is like a chime that taunts him in the same three or four notes. She finally unwraps the candy and brings it to her mouth as if it’s an expensive truffle. With a sigh her shoulders droop and she rolls her head back blissfully.

The sight brings a husky laugh to Shiro’s throat. His heart feels as if it’s been massaged with the most calming oil.

“What’s in here? I taste something that reminds me of liqueur…”

“Amaretto. Been in her family since 1935.”

“May I please have another one?”

He instructs her to hold out her palm and places half of Mrs. Hutchins’ handful inside. He means to take back his hand already but finds his fingers interlocked with hers.

“Gloria is a beautiful name. Why don’t you address her with it?”

“In Japanese culture, we don’t call our elders by their first name. So, we use their title, Mr. Mrs….”

“I want to know more about where you come from.”

“I have all day. What do you wanna know?”

.~.~.~.

Walking around town with the gentle sunlight was pleasurable, especially when he and Allura went from landmark to Mom and Pop as though absorbing a lost culture. Shiro tells stories about his childhood in a city named the Juban District, his mother who was an artist and father who served and protected on the police force. They moved to Kerberos when Shiro was an idealistic teenager who liked volunteering at the general store. His wanderlust and civic mindedness led him to join the U.S. Army after high school, where he lost his arm during the war.

Allura is patient and never pushes when he wants to change the subject to something more cheerful. Something terrible had happened in his more recent past, and that was evident from his trembling hand back on the ride down here. She suspects it has to do with why he lives alone and why she sleeps in his mother’s bare art room.

Still, she is grateful for images of Spring cherry blossoms and beautifully clean streets, of sunsets on plant nurseries. For finally knowing much more about what makes Shiro the man he is. She almost tells him about her regenerative powers in that moment but decides against it at the last minute.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m fine. Are you hungry?”

.~.~.~.

After enjoying a delicious dinner and dessert at Brooks’ Diner, they get a good spot in the square thirty minutes early. Crowds have already gathered with phones and other recording devices used for gathering minutes and for other journalistic work.

It was an interesting enough meeting: The mayor announced last-minute plans to have a festival honoring the tree’s recovery on a date in mid-December. Most of this was a speech on the circle of life and how something will occasionally come along to interrupt that cycle for better or worse. And this was a miracle indeed.

He should be returning to his relaxing day off, perhaps returning home as the sun burns to orange and the chill intensifies.

But his phone rings with Sanda’s number and he moans under his breath with an eye roll.

“Shirogane.”

_“Shirogane, we need you immediately for a 5150 at Kerberos College. _

“On my way.”

He utters a curse. Mental health case? He wishes he didn’t know who that person was. Allura is right behind him, and he doesn’t have it in him to turn her away. They walk quickly among the crowd, then immediately start sprinting to save a crazy professor who cannot seem to stay out of trouble. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 4, 5, and 6 will be intense, for better or worse... please let me know what you think!  
(Noticed Shiro didn't even bother to ask about who was hitting on Allura yet.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the calm before the storm.  
Some Shiro and Slav bonding moments, and of course some sweet Shallura moments. :D

Thankfully the University is only five minutes east of the Cypress plaza by the time he gets here. 

And to Shiro’s utter perplexity, he spots a familiar man of five-foot-two sprinting away from other individuals who must be colleagues or security. The college itself is yards of ground, twice the size of the largest high school, and Shiro thinks these guys are lucky enough to keep up.

“There he is! Sheriff Shirogane will have my back! Catch me if you can, suckers!”

The moment a security guard thinks he has dibs on him, Slav darts away with the agility of a loose Siberian Husky and starts speeding in the opposite direction. And the professor is rather sprightly for one who is likely to sit in a lab doing countless hours of research.

Shiro’s knee jerks and he has run after Slav numerous times in his imagination already. Eventually, he heads in another direction where pillars create a shaded walkway with other classrooms along the walls.

“Pick me up, Sheriff!”

“Wha-“

And Slav’s weight conquers him densely like that of a linebacker. Shiro nearly topples into a window, gripping the man’s calves and kneeling to the ground with one knee before hoisting himself up.

“Would you get off of me?!” he seethes.

“Once I touch this ground again, they will have caught me. I would rather be in your possession than theirs. They would change the time continuum by an exponential amount! 

"Do tell." he grunts. 

“Right now there is nothing to tell as long as you’re sturdy back can hold me.”

Shiro’s nose wrinkles as his eye twitches. This time he is in no mood to entertain his gibberish and begins to set Slav to the ground. But somehow Slav’s resistance is nothing to be underestimated. He twists and turns, not giving Shiro any leverage whatsoever or allowing his own feet to touch the floor. The man has the limp weight to match the foot shorter than Shiro he is when not being a heavy bolder.

“Let me carry him. I doubt he’ll have any reason to wriggle around then.” Allura perches her hands on her hips, face set like a stern disciplinarian.

“Oh, no you don’t! You’d be enough of a threat to our dear Shirogane if you _touch_ me!”

“I’m willing to take that chance!” Allura raises an eyebrow, then smiles as Shiro continues to carry him over his shoulder. He strains for his radio on his hip.

_“_Dr. Slav is in my custody.” He contacts Sanda with a straight face despite the trail of laughter that surrounds him when young scholars find way more amusement in this situation than he does.

.~.~.~.

In the interrogation room, Shiro’s teeth grits so badly with frustration it sets his jaw in a dull discomfort.

“Dr. …Slav…_what is your first name?”_

“What is _your_ first name?"

“Seriously? We’re doing _this_?!”

“I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours…”

And Shiro’s palms pulsate in their grasp.

In the small surface area of the front entrance, Allura shares glances with Amy, the reticent secretary who comments that Shirogane usually is able to keep his cool much better than this.

_"I'm not the one here in police custody...would you stop playing with that?!" _he blurts out.

_ "I can't answer questions if I have nothing else to focus on!"_

_ "Fine, take the rubber band!"_

Slav asks him for something that has some color in it, and that's when Shiro's usual composure crumbles into dust.

_“I was actually having a fun time today before your shenanigans interrupted us! And now you're gonna get ornery with me, here in a police station?! Well let me tell you something Professor..._**_whatever_**_ your name is! You will play with whatever I give you and you are going to LIKE IT!"_

_ “ENOUGH, Sheriff!”_

Shiro’s jaw softens when he sees Sanda in the doorway with her mouth set in a straight line and brows bent angrily until a crevice forms in her forehead. But he’s too busy waiting for his heart to stop dribbling, his frayed nerves to conjoin into something more feasible.

Dr. Slav is trembling, a sudden bead of sweat threading down his temple. “Why am I in police custody? You bastards finally got me off campus, you win!”

Shiro sighs and massages that tight knot at the base of his neck, the one that was nothing but mush a while ago. He’s got a second mind to put him in a cell with Sebastian on principle. Sebastian could teach him how to have a normal day. On second thought, the little walking enigma just might be what Sebastian needs, a tough love pill to straighten him out.

“You’re free to go for now, Dr. Slav. On one condition.” Sanda warns in the spirit of sanity.

The professor sighs and slurps a small cup of water from his Styrofoam cup. “Yes, ma’am?”

Sanda makes her way to the chair across from him, leans in menacingly, “You are not to go anywhere near that college campus. Expect to be escorted off the premises without warning and placed in our custody. Do we understand each other?”

Slav shrugs with one casual palm, “Of course. I go back on my own for my belongings in _my office_, and I get to make up my house and home in one of your questionable cells.” He rubs his wrists as Sanda uncuffs him.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to write a report that sounds like a police account and not a script for the latest comedy hour.” Shiro finishes. But before he walks away, he presses his lips together and follows Sanda around the corner as she furrows her brow.

.~.~.~.

Clearly this was going to be a drawn-out night, Allura thinks while playing spectator with her still-concealed ears. As Slav finally comes out of the interrogation room, she spots a young man who appears to be in his late teens being released from his own cell. He has neck-length brown hair and a fur coat draped over him; the skin must have been fashioned from a large field mammal.

Slav's attention suddenly lasers to a tall, scrawny man dawning a brown trench coat with a black business suit underneath. The man gives a cool wave to the front desk lady and pauses with his arms folded. They uncuff him, but all he does is stand there in spite of his old man’s arms waiting open for him.

“Dad, you’re early…” His greeting is timid.

“My time is precious, Sebastian. You should know that.” The man cups his son’s face, which is much fuller in comparison, and kisses his forehead. The boy’s lashes flitter as if such a gesture is foreign to him.

When the boy notices Allura, those same timid eyes morph and narrow into her with the sharpness of an ice pick.

“Hey, you’re the girl…”

Allura’s stomach trembles with butterflies.

“A friend of mine came whining to me about some chick who left him limping back to his house last night. You know he needed painkillers, right?”

“A little bit of pain with a lot of humiliation, I’m sure.” She perched her hands on her hips.

“You know karma ain’t the only bitch around here…”

“I beg your pardon!?” Allura questions more as a threat.

“Sebastian, enough.” Mayor Cole warns.

The teen huffs a humble sigh and marches ahead only to look back for his father. He commands him coolly to wait in the car.

“Mayor Cole!” Slav runs ahead of Shiro, huffing his chest and dragging his feet, “Your son has damaged public property of mine, and I think you should…”

“Should what? Entertain his childish antics by redeeming _your _misfortune?” Mayor Cole turned and straightened his narrow-framed glasses, eyes brimming coolly like frozen daggers. 

Slav flinches so badly that Allura notices a jolt in his knee cap. “What he damaged of mine was years of hard, academic work."

“You are a professor, are you not? Sounds like you failed to report him to the academic board and there lies _your_ conundrum a month later. I wouldn’t dare come demanding a payout.”

Slav’s gaze magnetizes to the icy white tiles of the police precinct floor. “But Mr. Cole, it’s not about that…”

“Right now I have my hands full.” As the man rubs his graying beard and makes his way to the entrance, he flashes a final look that ripples Allura’s skin with chills. “You’re new in town so I’ll only say this once: _never_ walk alone anywhere after dark.

Tapping of shoe corks echo and shrink until his form evaporates into the dusk.

“After all the brain juice I’ve given to that institution… ”

“What happened?” Allura asks while trying to disregard the second-hand chill from the Mayor.

Slav darts his eyes to and fro before adjusting his pitch to a whisper, “I chose to be brave and present some of my theories to my mentor, who was also the Department Head of Archaeology, and who helped me get this gig. Anyway, it became clear how bad my timing was when the more senior members came to me and accused me of perpetuating urban legends.”

“Why would you go there without proof?” Allura’s whisper is just as quiet, but with more edge as she tempers the bite that wants to come out.

“Because for _once_, my instincts took over. I didn’t expect the man I took direction from to betray me like this.” He exhales and plants both feet on the floor with his hands folded tensely into one another, “I showed Sheriff Shirogane some of a portfolio that _he_ destroyed in a random mud puddle. The rest is so soiled beyond recognition now…I doubt that anything would be useful.”

“What were on them_?_”

Shiro has come back. And his eyes are narrowed almost into a sleepwalk despite the late afternoon.

“I’m sorry about the wait. Allura…pardon me, _Brooke,_ you might have to arrange for Ms. Hutchins to give you a ride home.”

“There’s still some daylight left; I’ll just walk back.” She acknowledges his words and presence while trying to shake off the stench of her encounter with Cole and his son.

Slav brings up a more pressing question that makes Shiro squint: “Do you have a place for me to stay? The office was kinda my house during my now-non-existent academic career.” He touches his pointing fingers together nervously.

.~.~.~.

Alright, so with Shiro as law enforcement chaperone, Slav would go straight to his office and start packing his stuff. There are no moving boxes, so it is giant yard bags that had to do.

Though the final traces of winter sun start to wane most if not all of this office has been concealed in a stoic absence of light. It was roughly the size of Shiro’s bedroom growing up, cut in half of the surface area.

“Welcome to my former humble abode. Although that will change very soon, they’ll see.” He starts with his stack of books and makes his way to dusty stacks of magazines. “I had a small talk with Allura, mostly about presenting my research.

Shiro’s fist clenches, “What did she say?”

He notices the man moving towards his tan cabinet for black trash bags, commenting on her expressed curiosity. And frankly, Shiro stomach settles in nauseous unease at the prospect of her exposure. But who is he to control any of their fates, he realizes.

"If you both decide to go through with this, just be sure to remember that she's..."

“A what? A human?” Slav offers with a speck of scrutiny in his tone.

“She’s a _person_, Slav. Not someone’s research topic...”

The clever hiss from Slav’s mouth followed with some inaudible words that Shiro yearned to make out.

“Don’t let your crush on her get your head stewing with mush!”

“I don’t have a crush on her!” The sheriff protested in spite of the heat crawling to his neck and face, earning a swift tsk from the other man.

“Lies! You cannot tell me for one minute you have not noticed those legs, that hair, that beautifully shaped jawbone…”

“Her gender makes no difference to me, it’s all about…”

"Your date? The one I interrupted?"

And now the previous vapors clamoring for his face feel like heat evolved from molten lava, “…_annnd _there’s nothing else to discuss!”

“Alright.” Slav strolls away from Shiro and across the room. He moans in admiration of a figurine that looks like an elephant with several human arms perched on a shelf against the wall. “By the way, this one stays. This is Lord Ganesh. He’s protected my career and my space since I was a Graduate student. I’m counting on his blessing to keep doing that here until a possibility stumbles in my favor.”

When Slav speaks, he sounds like he went to a hidden dimension that he called home until it was time to go. What _is_ the correct way to approach this man, who lives in the realm of possibilities so long as they are curtained in the confines of statistics and scientific theories? Maybe a relative gave it to him years ago? Judging by all the knickknacks neatly stowed on shelves and almost compulsively scattered over his desk…

“Dualism. That is what he represents. That one can transcend this world while somehow being a part of it.” He bows and turns to his desk, quietly searching his drawers after the gingerly jingle of a key opens one. He finally sets in his chair and cracks his neck sideways.

Shiro begins to settle cross-legged on the floor until Slav sharply motions him to an extra chair in front of his desk. The professor takes out papers that have long been damaged and stained with last month’s mud.

“There must be a way to restore these…”

What _has_ been restored makes a mist into the recesses of Shiro’s brain. He wants to ask Slav who the artist was, who had the insight to make such vivid pieces of art. It wasn’t his mother, she kept everything close to her chest in that regard.

After taking a ten-minute break, the sun has already tucked behind the bare mountains. The Sheriff straightens as he rubs his lower back and the Professor has emptied the last of his drawers in some unmarked box he found somewhere.

“Sometimes I wonder…do I _really _have the power?”

“To do what?”

“To influence people to do _right_.” Shiro slumps in a chair. He massages the wrinkles in his forehead that branch to his temple. 

Slav takes a swig from his mug, “I think that’s the million-dollar question for men of our generation. Without rich snobs like the Coles who can use jails like timeout pens and money to shut people down, what’s our role? By the way, his grandfather was a benefactor of this school…” he finishes matter-of-factly.

“Excuse my language, but that’s what _pisses _me off! That his generational wealth buys influence, and I’m not implying that that’s **bad**_**.**_ It’s that others in the department…”

“Love to suckle his tit.”

“Dr. Slav, it’s _teet_.” He plainly corrects.

“All female animals have _tits_, don’t they?” he sits up and holds out his hand as if waiting for Shiro to better counter his explanation.

“_No. _They have _teets _where milk comes from. _That other word _is a slang word for what’s in a woman’s bra-why the hell are we arguing about this?!”

“Any further argument would have been a “tit for teet” then?” Slav smiles and sips from his mug again.

Shiro gives up.

As the sun sets, Slav tells stories of his youth in India. Of his father who ran a radical party headquarters under the guise of a waterfront hotel. His mother would read tea leaves and issue love readings to single women. She was just as meticulous and exacting as his father, and young Slav eventually grew up with her unorthodox way of seeing angles of things.

It takes Shiro only a few minutes before he could find someone else. They continue to hang out in Slav’s office until then, gathering clothing and stacking books in hallways when not taking a break to discuss how to restore the artwork.

Shiro answers his phone and greets the other end warmly. “Actually, there’s something that _you_ can do to help me out. It’s about Slav…”

.~.~.~.

Mrs. Hutchins never did kindly to doing last-minute favors where her personal life was concerned. But within minutes her truck is loaded with just the necessities, which took them a few minutes longer due to Slav’s painful deliberation over what “necessity” meant.

The moment they arrive to her lake house, the woman wastes no time in gathering suits on her shoulder and setting them down on a leather couch against the wall.

“Mrs. Hutchins, please allow me to carry what needs to be handled. It’s only fair since I’ll be inhabiting your garage for the time being…” Slav starts handling suitcases, weighing one against the other to make sure they are equally measured in his short arms. Shiro and Allura help him with the rest.

“I hope he doesn’t drive _her _out of her own home.” Allura murmurs behind a stuffed pillowcase in her possession.

Shiro snickers, “Let’s pray long and hard for that one!”

Speaking of long, hard prayers, Slav pauses his work and falls to his knees. He’s there for another five minutes before Mrs. Hutchins walks over to investigate.

“Slav, you okay?”

The young professor's prayers grow more fervent and increase in volume. Reluctantly, she sidesteps and waddles until everything is finally in their place.

“Takashi…” her voice seeps from her like a small cry for help lightly dusted in a stern warning.

“I know this is an inconvenience, but I assure you that it’s temporary.” His guilty furrow melts to a cheeky pout. “You _could _have said no…”

She pats his shoulder, “And when was the last time I’ve said no to you? It’s a small price to pay…” she straightens up after pressing the button to lock her vehicle.

Slav is finished, as evident by the deliberate way his soles scrape the ground beneath him upon rising. “My mother taught me that anyone who shows me kindness by opening up a part of their life to me, must receive prayer for good fortune.

Maybe a Type A, deliberate professor was just what this woman needed, kookiness and all.

.~.~.~.

Mrs. Hutchins decides to host a cook-out for everyone. It gives Shiro a much-needed break that he unfortunately won’t be able to stay for, but it was nice for another ten minutes. And last Shiro remembers is that it’s cozy no matter what season it is. A beautifully lit firepit accents the gorgeous brick of the sitting area, where contemporary lounge chairs are decorated with small pillows. Artificial shrubbery is strewn feet away until it ends at the lake’s borders.

As usual, the brief taste of her cooking saturates Shiro’s tongue like a long-thawed memory. One where the present reconciles it and brings it to life in the form of this new found family of his. 

The two women discuss the upcoming Tree festival as their pitches dabble into jovial territory, jumping from one high note to another. Slav, however, is much too into his own world next to the balcony.

“Do you smell that?”

It’s familiar. The chemical change in the air scented with wet asphalt, a silence absent of a hum. Snowfall was imminent. If they stayed out any longer, the pit would be coated in ice.

“Mrs. Hutchins…”

“I know. Brooke won’t let anything happen to me, if Slav fails to do his job!” She laughs, and it’s something that’s a salve to his heart on a night like this. Memories of coming home from the military as a nineteen-year-old, damaged kid to find his parents and a little, yet stout woman who was a neighbor. New house, fresher air. Higher elevation.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back? Don’t want Sanda to have your hide.”

Shiro perched his hands on his hips, “I’ll head back once I have your vow that you’ll stay toasty.”

“I, Gloria Hutchins, solemnly swear that it will not be the cold that kills me. Now take this with you!” She lovingly shoves a plate with aluminum in his gloved hands and pats him along.

Before he could take the older woman’s words as a final command, Allura calls him in her softest pitch.

“I just want to tell you…stay safe out there.”

“I promise.”

It’s comforting. The two of them exchanging glances like there is no sense of time or progression. Her cheeks grow a little rosy, potentially from the freshly wrapped chill as his does. And the transaction is broken with a glance of aluminum-wrapped nourishment and he starts down the stairs. 

After the last step nearly does him in, he grunts and hops back to his feet before anyone can notice what happened. He dusts the fresh powder from his ass and pats himself until the rest of the snow melts into the fabric. Once he inspects himself further, he blasts an exasperated sigh and charges to Ms. Hutchins’ car for his missing phone, not before turning around and swiping his intact dinner plate.

Snow crunching under his shoe makes the only echo among the freshly dusted trail. The garage door is closed. Looks like he’ll have to phone her…oh, right.

A sigh billows from his mouth into a puff of arctic fog.

“Here.”

Shiro yelps with his mouth swollen and eyes splashed with surprise. “Weren’t you just?”

“When I went to gather my notebook, I saw a glow with the cutest character of a black cat scuttering around on your screen. Where do you find such graphics?”

“Thank you, Slav.” He deadpans and takes the phone from him, eyeing a familiar folder in his other hand, which Slav relinquishes with a shake.

“I know there’s a room where police are able to restore evidence. Use it and bring back my glory!”

“Slav, I’m not risking my job to restore a piece of art. Not without jurisdiction…”

“Ho ho! I’m sure you’ll find a way to buck the system without bucking it up. Bye!” He shrugs with a cheerful bounce and is back in the house. 

.~.~.~.

And in his drawer is exactly where the damned folder would stay. As he takes a break from the mountain of paperwork in front of him, his stomach throws a tantrum by nagging just enough to throw his dinner plate in the microwave. The fragrance of kebobs and rice pilaf will make his office a stomping ground (curse his luck). He’ll just close his door and play off like he’s in need of alone time.

With one hand he scribbles on countless forms, something to do with Slav’s earlier shenanigans and more headaches regarding Sebastian’s release. Once this hour passes, he can burrow in his bed and dream.

For a moment, he considers asking forensics to take a look at the mud-stained remnants. But it’s a “no” after he fails to dream up a scenario to incorporate the favor into.

.~.~.~.

The gentle whisper of snowfall continues, and Shiro has not returned yet.

Yet the curves of the flame in the fireplace greet Allura this evening. Anything to take away the numbing cold she feels in her bones. Something about this kind of weather only spoke more firmly to the vacancy in her own soul. Yet she was so close to _something_!

It was wonderful to trail into Kerberos and to become more acquainted with settlers and others who called this place home. It would be perfect to settle here were it not for the unwelcome strum of anxiety coursing through her veins: Exactly _what _was her reason for being here? The question grew from nagging curiosity to an urgent quest for a _real_ answer. If only…

“Alfor…”

The name rests in her heart like a warm press. She wishes she could have known Shiro’s mother at the time the two of them met. The artbook brings her back to a beautiful tapestry of a life richly lived in the recesses of the mind and heart. Lately, she fears that the path through these pages will grow rote.

She sighs, allowing the sound to disappear in the backdrop of the flame’s heavy crackling.

"You should get some sleep.” Shiro’s rasp seeps into her abdomen like water scraping a bed of pebbles.

“How can I when there is more to discover about my people? A man’s entire work can give me clarity on exactly what I need, so who am I to deny him that right?!

“I’m sorry, but Slav knew the risk he was taking!”

“At least what he does had been for someone other than himself.” Allura glances away, gravity pulling her into the train of thought she does not want to lose. “You still have that folder he gave you?” She finally closes the artbook gingerly and shifts her knees toward him as he sits on the couch.

“Locked away in my desk.” Shiro takes next to her in front of the fireplace, “But Allura…”

“_Please_ find out whatever you can! Within boundaries, of course.” The firm tone of her voice quivers a little.

Shiro averts her gaze, “That’s just it. One misstep, Allura, and Sanda will dismiss me on the spot! No compromises!”

He palms her knuckles, causing her fingers to stretch.

She frowns, but not because of the gesture as evident by her fingers threading through his.

“You know I would do _anything _for you.”

“I know that. You must get your rest.” She smiles fondly and squeezes his hand before giving him the book and returning to her room.

.~.~.~.

_A sheer outline of white, blue, and pink is the first thing Shiro sees before he allows himself to breathe again. As he regains focus, colors become form. Form magnifies shadows, textures, dimension. Her skin painted mahogany and ornamented with luminous silver hair, thick as a winter cloud. _

_ “Who are you?” He utters in spite of the urge to vomit the lingering stench of copper in his throat._

_ “M…na…’s…linor.”_

* * *


End file.
